by Paige Dearth
Tony and Vincent stepped back from the chair and looked at him.
“Holy shit,” Tony bellowed, “that’s gotta really hurt your balls.”
Tony leaned down and put his nose to John William’s nose. “It does hurt your balls, doesn’t it? And uffa, ya probably got one of dose spikes stuck up your ass, too. My suggestion is ya try and stay as still as ya can ’til ya just fuckin’ die.”
Over the next two days, Tony and Vincent stayed with John William. When they leaned down to talk to him, they’d press on his arm or leg, driving the spikes deeper into his body. At one point, Tony took a wooden box filled with old, heavy tools and threw it onto John William’s lap. They didn’t let him sleep; they slapped him in the face or threw water in his face if his eyes closed. Their goal was to make sure he stayed awake to feel every moment of his horrible circumstances.
At the end of the second day, John William died when Vincent grabbed him by the ears and repeatedly slammed his head into the spikes of the headrest. It was an appropriate and torturous death for John William. Tony and Vincent felt as though they had given the rodent a proper send-off into eternal hell.
As they left the property in the middle of the night and dumped John William’s naked body on the side of the road, with his own driver’s license shoved into his mouth, they felt victorious. They left the ogre in a place where they knew his body would be found, and they rejoiced in the work they’d done. There was no greater feeling than punishing those who deserved it the most.
“We did real good, Vincent,” Tony commented as he drove back to Philadelphia.
“I know, Tony. I think it’s one of our best kills yet,” Vincent answered, reflecting back on all the pain associated with the method they’d used to kill John William.
“Now we need to see about this Myles guy,” Tony said thoughtfully.
“Yeah, I already have one of our soldiers on it,” Vincent said.
“Good. One down, one to go.”
The Final Hours
After seeing John William, a day didn’t go by that Maggie didn’t look over her shoulder, waiting for him to reappear. Lorraine was driving Joey to and from school to be sure no one got near her. Colby was on guard, as well. Lorraine told Detective Harker what happened at the bowling alley, and he made sure the police watched Maggie’s apartment and Joey’s school. Maggie never uttered a word to anyone about her phone call to Tony and Vincent.
Maggie couldn’t believe she was reliving her nightmare. She had a constant, gnawing fear in the pit of her stomach. Her thoughts wandered to the things they’d do to Joey if John William got his hands on her. She could barely think about it without becoming edgy and short-tempered.
Three weeks after seeing John William at the bowling alley, an envelope arrived in the mail. There was no return address. She turned it over in her hands as if expecting something terrible to happen. Sitting in her living room, Maggie ripped open the envelope. Inside were two clippings from two different newspapers.
MAN FOUND DEAD ON SIDE OF ROAD IN BUCKS COUNTY
A local man was found dead on Swamp Road in Doylestown on Tuesday. The body, discovered by motorists, was naked and covered with what appeared to be multiple stab wounds. The victim was identified as John William McCloud, 32.
The coroner’s report said that over a thousand puncture wounds were found on McCloud’s head, back, legs, and arms. The report indicates that the victim bled to death. The Bucks County District Attorney’s Office is investigating. Anyone who has information related to the crime is encouraged to call the local police department.
McCloud was the son of the late Daren McCloud of Philadelphia, the last caretaker of a former prison on Fairmont Avenue in Philadelphia.
Maggie sat back on her sofa and tried to absorb what she’d just read. She thought back to the day at the bowling alley when she’d called Tony to report that John William was following her. As the story of his horrifying and painful death began to sink in, Maggie felt a sense of liberation. John William had ruined her young life. His actions had caused Seth, Cali, and Max to die. A feeling of joy and freedom began to form, and stress poured out of her body as if someone had opened a faucet in the center of her soul. John William had finally gotten what he deserved, even though no amount of torture could make up for the pain and suffering he’d caused so many children. She rose from the sofa and, although it was only noon, went to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of beer from the refrigerator. She settled back down on the sofa and looked at the second article in the envelope:
PROMINENT NEW YORK BUSINESSMAN FOUND DEAD
City real estate developer Myles Cabello was found dead on Monday in a Dumpster near his apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.
Cabello, a native of Brooklyn, was 46. Police said Cabello was found hog-tied with his throat crushed and his genitals mutilated with what the coroner believes was a razor blade. The cause of death was suffocation, according to the coroner’s report. A police spokesman told reporters, “Whoever killed Mr. Cabello really wanted him to suffer. The way in which he died indicates that this was not a random killing, but a calculated homicide to insure that the victim’s death was painful and prolonged.” According to police, Cabello was last seen leaving a bar two blocks from his apartment at around 10:00 p.m. the night he died.
Cabello’s wife, Harriet, told a Channel 7 Eyewitness News reporter, “Myles was a man of honor. He always put his children and his family first. He was a good man who never harmed anyone in his life.” Mrs. Cabello went on to explain that her husband had no enemies, and she and her three children were shocked and deeply saddened by their loss. “Our family hopes the person responsible for killing Myles is found and put to justice.”
Police continue to pursue all leads in the case. The Cabello family has posted a $25,000 reward for any information that leads to the arrest of the person responsible for his murder.
When Maggie finished reading the second article, tears were dribbling down her chin. These were not tears of sadness, but tears of retribution. She felt euphoric. Many others were involved in the sex-trafficking cartel; she knew that. But it gave her peace to know that the two men who had obliterated her childhood and killed the people she loved were now dead.
Maggie didn’t share the articles with anyone. Instead, she lit them on fire and let them burn to ash in the kitchen sink. As they burned, she thought about Cali, Max, and Seth. In the end, they had all won. Tony and Vincent had killed John William and Myles. She felt no guilt and had no sense of wrongdoing because the two barbarians got exactly what they deserved. Maggie would never mention a word to anyone about what she knew. It was a dirty little secret that she intended to take to her grave.
“Hello?”
“Tony, it’s Maggie. I just wanted to say…I just wanted to say hello. I’m doing really well now. Will you tell Vincent that Joey and I are doing really good?” Maggie asked.
“Yeah, I’ll tell him,” Tony said, feeling good about killing the two grimy cockroaches.
“You’re good men,” Maggie stated.
“You take care, now,” Tony said, his voice thick, and then he hung up the phone.
“Who was that?” Joey asked as she walked into the kitchen.
“Oh, nobody. Wrong number,” Maggie said.
But as Maggie turned away from Joey, she felt breathless. She flipped her long blonde hair over her shoulder. Then Maggie closed her eyes and took long, even breaths in through her nose, suddenly aware of all the delicious aromas in her kitchen. The eleven-year-old who still lived inside of Maggie Clarke-Derby had finally witnessed true justice.
Maggie could finally put the scared and abused child to rest.
Continue Reading…
Read About Maggie’s Friend, Emma
Continue reading…
THE SEED IS PLANTED
“Emma! Get your ass down here, you stupid little bitch! What the fuck did I tell you about not living like a pig?” Pepper screamed.
Panic-stricken at t
he thought of what would happen next, Emma rushed her younger sister, Gracie, over to the bedroom closet and pushed the tiny child inside. Before shutting the door she said, “Don’t move or make any noise.” Then in a softer whisper she warned her younger sister, “You have to be really, really quiet. I’ll be right back. I promise.”
That was code for “be invisible.” Gracie obeyed her older sister, tears of fright silently dribbling down her cheeks.
Emma rushed into the hallway and stopped to look at her mother, who was standing just inside her own bedroom. “What the hell did you do now?” she accused. “How many times do I have to tell you to do what you’re told? You brainless idiot!”
Gracie listened from the closet to the rapid patter of eight-year-old Emma’s feet as she ran down the stairs. There was an eerie silence during which she unconsciously held her breath. Then the first blow was struck. Followed by others. Gracie cringed at her older sister’s muffled shrieks of torment as she imagined the scene downstairs with telling accuracy. Emma, she knew from past experience, had once again been transformed into her father’s punching bag. She wondered why their mother didn’t go and help Emma. Resisting the urge to run downstairs, Gracie stayed hidden upstairs in the bedroom closet as she was instructed, waiting for the beating to end, scared that her father would come for her after he was finished with her older sister.
Down in the kitchen, Pepper Murphy lurched around, unsteady on his feet. He towered over his young daughter, contemplating her stricken face for several minutes and deriving a sickening enthusiasm and fresh energy from her growing terror. She stood before him, whimpering from the fear that was planted in her heart, wishing, as always, that her father’s love for her would overpower his fury. That never happened. When she had worked herself up into a frenzy of fear, Pepper punched her in the eye. Emma lost her footing and hurtled back into the doorframe. Almost immediately, her face began to swell at the site of impact.
Snatching her up by the collar of her shirt, Pepper slapped Emma across the face with such force that he split her lip open. Blood gushing into her mouth and down her chin, she watched as her father walked over to the stove and turned on the burner. When the cold black coil began to glow a scorching orange, he shut the burner off and stood glaring at his daughter. Her body involuntarily shook as she wondered what he was going to do to her. Huddled in the corner of the kitchen, Emma wished the walls would open so that she could crawl inside of them and find the needed protection from her father’s wrath. “Please, Daddy. Please don’t hurt me. I’m sorry,” the child begged.
His eyes bored into hers, undeterred by her fear and pain. Emma watched in terror as the corners of his mouth curled up, until he was smiling like a sadistic monster. She trembled visibly in anticipation of what was to come. Her father suddenly pounced on her. Grasping her by the arm, he dragged her, kicking and screaming, over to the hot burner. Then he seized her left hand and ordered her to unclench her teeny fist. After she opened her hand, Pepper slapped her palm down on the hot burner in one swift movement, holding it in place for a couple of seconds and letting the young, tender skin boil and blister from the intense heat that still remained. Then he bent down, his face close to his daughter’s, and snorted, “Oink! Oink! Oink!” into her ear.
All through the ordeal, Emma’s shrills of agony sliced through the silence of the house. Valerie lay on her bed upstairs. Her mind filled with raw horror as she imagined what would happen to her if Pepper killed the child and was sent to prison. She prayed that he wouldn’t take it too far this time. She didn’t give a thought to the suffering that her older daughter was enduring at the hands of her husband. It was as if she had ice water running through her veins in place of blood.
As Emma collapsed on the floor, Pepper stood over her threateningly. Speaking in a tight, cold voice, he said through clenched teeth, “You are a worthless piece of shit. I don’t know why I just don’t kill you right now. I’m giving you another chance to act like a human being. You can forget about eating dinner tonight. I don’t see why a little pig like you should be fed. Consider yourself lucky that I don’t beat you to death.” He began to leave the kitchen, but turned back at the doorway and bellowed, “You better have this place cleaned up before I get home from the bar!” With that final warning, Pepper grabbed a beer from the refrigerator then stormed out of the kitchen and left the house.
Emma remained sprawled on the floor, paralyzed by the depth of her own despair, her eight-year-old mind trying to recover from what her father had just done to her. Then she scolded herself for failing to wash that one dirty fork that Valerie had left in the sink when she had gotten home from school. Maybe if she had washed it, none of this would have happened, she tried to rationalize, looking for some reason why she deserved such harsh punishment. She sat staring at her blistered, deformed palm. The pain the burn caused was only secondary to her overwhelming despair at being unloved.
This year of her life was when Emma became acutely aware of the possibility that Pepper might actually kill her. The years prior had been hard for her, but now that she was getting older her thoughts and senses were on high alert and she could no longer deny them. She grappled with finding different ways to behave that would stop the abuse, not because she was afraid of dying, but because she was afraid to leave Gracie alone with her parents.
After Pepper had burned her hand on the stove, she did everything in her power to fly below his radar. She made sure to clean the house after school every day and took special care in making his meals. But nothing lightened his fury. It was a Wednesday night and Emma was sitting at the kitchen table doing her homework after she had finished cleaning up from dinner. Her father staggered back into the kitchen to get himself another beer. He opened the can and took a long, hard swig. His head hung as if it were too heavy for his neck to hold as he eyed her with disgust. “I don’t know why you bother with dat school shit; you’re never gonna ’mount to nuttin’ no matter how hard you try,” he babbled through his drunken daze.
Emma looked up at him, her heart pounding in her chest. “My math teacher thinks I’m really smart. She told me that if I wanted to, I could be an accountant someday,” Emma said, hoping to make him feel proud of her.
Pepper stomped over to the table and picked up one of her pencils and thrust the point into her forearm. The pencil stood at attention as she looked on in shock. She quickly yanked the pencil out of her arm and ran to the sink to wash off the blood with soap and water. “See dat! Now you’re not so worried ’bout pretending like you understand anything in those books of yours. Let that be a lesson not to leave your stuff all over my kitchen table. Now get this shit out of here!” he bellowed.
Pepper was tireless in his violent treatment of Emma. To her, the slaps, punches, and kicks came from a bottomless pit of hate that burrowed deep in her father’s soul. The endless bruises he left on her made Emma feel hopeless and ashamed. Alone in the bathroom, Emma would study the wounds and scars that Pepper gave her. She was consumed by her sense of loneliness and lack of power to change her circumstances. She was completely at his mercy and knew he could do whatever he wanted to her, regardless of how broken she became.
It was a warm morning in August and the two girls were jumping rope in the backyard. Pepper got annoyed because they were making too much noise while he was nursing a burning hangover with vodka. He flung open the back door and stood holding his aching head. “You two shut the fuck up. You hear?”
They immediately went silent and stood perfectly still. He turned and went back into the house, and Emma was lulled into a false sense of security as they began running through the yard, playing tag. Moments later, the rotted screen door burst open and Pepper barrelled down the cement steps into the yard. He grabbed Emma under her arm and pulled her into the house. She began to plead with him, knowing she was in for something terrible. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she cried, “I swear, we’ll be quiet. OK, Daddy? Please don’t hurt me,” she cried.
Pepper grabbed the sof
t flesh under her upper arm and pinched as hard as he could. Emma went to her knees as she tried to get him to release his hold. He dragged her into the living room where there was an old wooden trunk. “You want to disobey me? Well then, there is a price for that,” he said calmly.
Pepper pushed the glass vase filled with dusty plastic flowers off the chest. It slammed to the floor and shattered into a million pieces. Emma’s eyes bulged as she frantically wondered what he was going to do to her. As her father lifted the lid to the trunk, she shrunk away from him trying to run and escape. He lifted her around the waist, her feet flailing as she tried to break away from his tight grip. Her movements made it impossible for him to get her legs into the trunk. Growing more irrational by the moment, he clamped his teeth on her shoulder until he could taste her blood in his mouth. Then he twisted her arm behind her back until he heard the pop as it dislocated at the shoulder. With excruciating pain in both shoulders she stopped fighting and sank into the trunk. After he slammed the lid shut and locked it, he left her and went to find Gracie. Ignoring her own painful injuries, Emma’s gut twisted as she heard her father slapping Gracie around the living room. I wish I were a superhero, she thought, so that I can break out of here and help my sister.
Inside the trunk her body was twisted in an unnatural position. Her legs were folded at the knees behind her and her torso was bent at the waist so that her nose touched her knees. There was not enough room in the small space for her to reposition herself, and after a couple of hours her limbs went numb.